


Looking for a Savior

by chrisevnas (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Runs Away, Depressing, Dissociation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love, M/M, Memory Loss, Nightmares, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Sad, Self-Hatred, Top Steve Rogers, Unfinished, Work In Progress, at some points, bucky is like he was in tfa but with a metal arm, he thinks steve is tired of him, i know it says complete but it's not i'm just stupid, i promise i'll try to give some light, self-harm (non-traditional)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/chrisevnas
Summary: Bucky is recovering from all that Hydra has done to him, but he's not doing it well or quick enough, and he can tell Steve's patience is wearing thin.ORBucky wallows in self-hatred while Steve tries to figure out how to help his best guy.





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you ever think about what I woulda been like?” Bucky asks the still air. “What we woulda been like?”

 

It takes six heartbeats (Bucky’s, of course, his only measurement of time lately) before Steve responds, “Not usually.”

 

Irrationally, Bucky is hurt. The knife that carries Steve’s words is wedged in between his ribs and he turns on his side, willing the blood to seep into the mattress rather than stain his skin.

 

He turns, turns away from Steve, away from what he could have been, away from worrying. He was taken, he can’t change that, and though he wishes more than anything that he could ask Steve what he wants to, he just can’t bring himself to do it.

 

_What do you think of me? Do you even love me anymore? I don’t know if I can love anymore._

 

He’s a broken toy, and Steve is growing tired of waiting around for him to work again. He can see it, in the way Steve gives him a pitying look when he doesn’t know what he likes to eat for dinner. Can see it in the way Steve gets exasperated about reintroducing Natasha and Clint and Tony. Sees it in the way Bucky doesn’t understand Steve’s reminiscent stories and instead nods along. He doesn’t nod well enough, it seems. Steve can always see through him.

 

It numbs his body and puts him into reaction all at once. He wants to bolt from this godforsaken bed. Go back to Siberia and knock on Hydra’s door and ask them to take him back. At least there he has a home. At least there he’s okay not remembering— praised, even.

 

But Bucky’s a liar. To himself, to Steve, to everyone. Because he’s in love with the idiot next to him, and he knows if he left that Steve would chase him. Bucky may not care about his own life much anymore —how can you care about something that doesn’t exist?— but he sure as hell cares about Steve’s.

 

Seventy-three heartbeats before Steve speaks again, “Are you upset with me?”

 

“No,” Bucky says quickly. Too quickly.

 

Steve huffs and Bucky shrinks into himself, curling his arms around his knees and mumbling his goodnight. He doesn’t cry, not anymore, but he can feel the phantom tears stream down his face while he listens to Steve sigh.

 

He’s nothing more than Steve’s burden.

 

* * *

 

It’s a week later (12,264 heartbeats) when Bucky has his small backpack packed. He’s not sure where he’ll go next, but it shouldn’t matter anyway. He was once on the run at all times, he could do it again.

 

Toothbrush, travel-size toothpaste. A pair of jeans. A nice black t-shirt, Steve’s, both because it’s nice and because it’s Steve’s, perhaps all he’ll ever own of his ever again. Three knives, two tactical, one pocket. A gun, small, tucked in his waistband, safety on. Three pairs of socks, duct tape in case his shoes give out. $100 he got for Christmas. Steve’s dog tags.

 

He visits Steve’s room, ensuring there’s no trace of him anywhere. He doesn’t wish to burden Steve any longer. He’s scrubbed his body free of any scent, putting brand new clothes on that have no smell other than the one they were given at the store. Nondescript, Bucky hopes. Nothing that Steve’s super senses will determine worth paying attention to.

 

No tears are left inside Bucky’s body, and yet he finds a single drop of moisture escape his eye, dripping down onto Steve’s pillow.

 

He’s left a note, deep inside his own room’s closet, where there are still coats and shirts and all manners of clothing he never wore. It’s tucked inside the one jacket he did wear, a year ago maybe. The one that Steve had asked him to wear. 

 

_ I’m sorry for staying so long. _

_ JBB _

 

He resents the neat handwriting he’s left on the paper, resents the time it took him to translate his words from Russian. Resents that he had to check his little notebook to verify his initials.

 

His first mistake is made when he visits his old home. His and Steve’s. Before Bucky started having disturbing nightmares that caused them to move to the Stark Tower. Before Steve stopped sleeping with him. Before he was locked in his own room with nothing but an AI to calm him down when he woke. Before Steve walked in a moment later, looking tired and bored as he asked Bucky if he was okay.

 

This is the home that Steve held him in, the home he told him he loved him in. Bucky absently wonders if Steve would even remember that now, it seems so long ago. If he did, he certainly didn’t feel that way for Bucky anymore, and Bucky is no man to blame him. He, too, would dump the dead weight that he had become in an instant if he had any say in the matter.

 

Bucky remembers very few things now, but the good things were here, and he wishes to see it one last time before he disappears. He knows he’ll never get to return, so he enters the abandoned building, tracing his hands along the cracked walls, where he had punched so hard, the broken door frames where he had shoved his shoulder against the beam and screamed, trying to pull his metal arm free of his flesh. Steve had stopped him then, had held him while he cried. That was the beginning of the bad, when Steve still loved him.

 

Now, JARVIS delivers an electric shock to his abdomen, forcing him to the ground, and gives Bucky breathing exercises. But he’s not real, and Bucky knows his skin is burning not from the intensity of the moment, but from the aching need for the man he loves to touch him.

 

Bucky has no business making noise, not when these walls have held his screams and angry curses for so long, so he simply exhales only slightly heavier than normal. He touches the wall to their bedroom one last time, with his flesh hand, knowing the wall might shrink back if he dared to show the metal fingers. He’s unable to go inside, unable to face what has happened to him. Instead he gives a silent apology and turns.

 

Though the brunet has heavy boots on, his steps make no noise. If there is one silver lining in all that Hydra has done to him, Bucky supposes it must be that. In another life, he might’ve used that ability to play pranks, or to scare people just so he can laugh and laugh while they fight back giggles and shove him.

 

But this is his life, and he instead uses it to keep himself quiet, a ghost if not for the body that holds him. He’s gotten smaller now, much so, where the arm seems too large for him. Tony had been working on a smaller model, now that he had become so much leaner, like he was before the war. He has no time. When he gets somewhere he can make noise ( _if_ he gets somewhere, he reminds himself) he will rip the metal from his skin and patch himself up, because it’s better to have nothing at all than something you hate.

 

Which is why Bucky is leaving Steve. He would rather be nothing at all than something Steve hates.

 

He lets that be his parting thought with the house before he walks back down the stairs and out the back door, shutting it noiselessly. He’s dropped his bike off about six miles away, where he’ll be able to make a bit more noise without worrying someone may follow him. It’s in the heart of Manhattan, in front of the Captain America merchandise store. Until then, he has a thin jacket to cover his body from the New York snow. January seems to be a turn of events for most people, and Bucky walks down the streets of Brooklyn feeling like maybe it is for him, too. He may not be vowing to exercise or not to drink, but he’s vowing to leave the man he loves alone.

 

He should be able to hear him before he’s yanked back by the arm, but he doesn’t. The brunet must be lost somewhere in his mind, which he curses himself for. How could he possibly fail at the one thing he’s good at?

 

It takes seven hundred and thirty heartbeats before he’s yanked by the elbow. He stumbles, and he can’t reach his gun quick enough, and _fuck_ he’s gonna die on the streets of Brooklyn and Steve will scoff at his obituary, will say he couldn’t even run away correctly—

 

When Bucky turns, however, he’s met with outraged blue eyes. Eyes that scream betrayal, hurt, and anger. Bucky knows them straight away.

 

“Let me go,” he whispers, yanking his arm weakly.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Steve asks loudly.

 

Despite himself, Bucky’s cheeks turn pink, and he yanks again, though Steve’s grip isn’t relenting any time soon. “Please,” Bucky whimpers, nodding his head to his clothing that’s been pulled from his shoulder. “I’m cold.”

 

“Yeah, maybe because it’s fourteen fucking degrees and you’re in a windbreaker.”

 

Bucky flinches, looking down at the ground, covered in white. “You weren’t supposed to find me.”

 

“Oh, yeah, JARVIS told me, trust me,” he says bitterly. “It’s cute you left a note that I would find in, what, eight weeks?”

 

Bucky curses under his breath, hating that he asked the AI to calculate his plans with him, ensure they would work. He should have encrypted them, just another stupid thing that Steve can blame him for.

 

Bucky sighs. “I’m sorry. This— I didn’t mean to do this for attention.”

 

“Didn’t you?” Steve asks. “Isn’t this how you operate? You ignore me, push me away, then scare the fuck outta me so I’ll pay attention to you?”

 

“I haven’t…” Bucky shakes his head, embarrassed and scrambled. “I didn’t wanna be your problem no more.”

 

“Tough shit.” Steve spits. “Pretty sure that’s my decision, not yours.”  


 

“Please stop cussing at me,” Bucky whimpers. He can’t take it, not from Steve. He could handle screaming, he could handle hitting, but this gentle and yet pissed-off version of the blond is something his brain can’t comprehend.

 

“What would you rather I do, Bucky?” Steve asks, sounding genuine through his anger.

 

Bucky shrugs. “Turn me in, or beat me to a pulp, or, um, kill me,” he says softly.

 

Sixteen heartbeats.

 

“What did I do?” Steve asks, sounding broken.

 

“It’s me,” Bucky says immediately, because it is. Steve is perfect, Steve is everything, and Bucky has done nothing but bring him down. “I can’t be what you want. I need to… You deserve to be happy.”

 

Steve waits eighty-two heartbeats before releasing his grip on Bucky, though he doesn't move an inch. “Is this because I stopped sleeping with you?”

 

Bucky shakes his head. He can’t have this conversation, it would make him vulnerable, and he can’t be vulnerable, not now.

 

“I’m sorry for everything, Stevie,” he says honestly. “Sometimes I wish I died when I fell off that train. I think you still woulda loved me that way.”

 

Steve swallows hard, poking Bucky’s dog tags ( _his_ dog tags) with the tip of his finger. Bucky jolts at the unexpected touch. “Y’gonna take these?”

 

Bucky’s embarrassed, suddenly. Of course Steve would want to keep his war memorabilia, one of the last things he probably has from his old life.

 

He pulls the chain over his head and holds them out for Steve, who takes them without making contact with Bucky’s hand.

 

“M’sorry,” Bucky mumbles. “Um, I took your shirt, too,” he admits, pulling his backpack off his shoulders and unzipping it.

 

As Bucky digs through his few belongings, Steve breaks down into sobs, cries that break Bucky’s heart, but all he can do is stare at the crying blond in shock. What has he done to upset him? Is this because of the dog tags? Steve is tired, he reasons, and does not want to be out in the cold with a waste of life such as himself.

 

Bucky holds out the shirt apologetically, slinging the backpack over his false shoulder. “Um, I’m real sorry,” he consoles. “I promise that’s all I took.”

 

Steve looks at the shirt, then at Bucky, and before Bucky can process anything, his mouth is being pressed against cold lips.


	2. out of the black, into the blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky communicate, for once.

“Please don’t,” Steve begs. “Don’t do this to me, please, _please._ ”

 

“I don’t understand,” Bucky responds, willing his brain not to be useless just this once. Is he forgetting something? Is there someone behind him? Is Steve hallucinating?

 

Steve shakes his head, taking Bucky’s backpack despite the brunet’s grabby hands to take it back. “Come back to the tower with me and let’s talk?” he suggests gently. “I think that could help us both.”

 

Despite his fears, Bucky nods slowly and follows the blond, hands in his pockets the entire time. Steve’s always so beautiful, even in the snow, as no tremor rocks through his powerful body. The serum keeps him at a healthy temperature no matter what, so even in his tight blue shirt he’s as comfortable as ever.

 

Bucky, however, got the knockoff serum. His bones aren’t as strong as Steve’s. He still gets cold in some places, overheated in others. His body is still affected by what he eats or doesn’t eat. His metabolism is faster, that much is true, but he’s much weaker than Steve when he isn’t keeping up a healthy gym and diet regimen. And he definitely hasn’t been doing that.

 

Shockingly, they avoid anybody all the way up to Steve’s floor. Bucky asks that he be taken up to his own floor but Steve gives him pleading eyes, and Bucky was always a fool for him anyway.

 

Unsure where to go, Bucky sits on the floor in the corner while Steve rummages through his backpack, eyes shining every few items. Bucky isn’t really sure why he would be so weepy over a toothbrush, but he supposes it’s another thing he doesn’t remember.

 

It takes 438 heartbeats before Steve zips the backpack with a heavy sigh, setting it gently at the foot of the bed. He turns and glances at Bucky, who has been hiding in his hair as he counts heartbeats, waiting for the blond to do something.

 

“Will you come over here?” Steve asks softly, sitting on the edge of his bed. Perfectly intact, just like Bucky had left it.

 

“I’d rather stay here,” Bucky says. “I don’t want to… I think it would be better if I didn’t.”

 

Steve frowns, but nods and runs a hand through his hair. “Will you tell me why you were running?”

 

Bucky chews on his lip. “I figured you already knew,” he mumbles, gesturing toward the older man. “You’re… You’ve got everything, and I’m just dragging you down at this point. There’s really no reason for me to be around ya anymore. I’m not Captain America material. I’m on-the-run material. I don’t deserve a bed, or good food to eat. I don’t remember it anyway. I could sleep on hot coals and not have anything to compare it to. I’m sick of being your burden, I hate seeing you get more and more upset with me as the days pass.”

 

Steve lets the brunet’s words settle before he responds, “I’m not upset with you. I just don’t know how to help. I… I hate seeing you so empty. It’s hard to explain, Buck. I used to have you, and now I feel like I’m nothing but a reminder of bad times for you. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t care.”

 

Bucky swallows a few times, before meekly asking, “Can you cut my hair?”

 

Steve looks a little shocked for a second, before he nods slowly. Bucky unfolds himself from his corner and sits next to Steve, a foot away. He grabs one of the two tactical knifes from inside the backpack, handing it to Steve without making contact.

 

“Are you sure?” he asks softly. “That’s a big decision.”

 

Bucky breathes. “You loved me that way. You don’t love me this way.”

 

“That’s not true, Buck,” Steve argues.

 

“Please?” Bucky asks, wringing his hands. “I don’t want it anymore.”

 

The blond exhales shakily before lifting the knife, taking care to do the best job he can. Bucky closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of Steve’s big hands against his head, his neck, his shoulders. It takes around twenty minutes before Steve folds the knife back up, brushing a hand along the back of Bucky’s shirt.

 

“I did my best,” Steve murmurs, “It’s not perfect.”

 

Bucky nods, slipping his jacket off of his shoulders. Steve gathers the hem of the brunet’s shirt and begins to lift. Bucky does his best not to panic, letting Steve have him like this.

 

It’s the first time the blond has seen him since he got a lot weaker and smaller, and there’s a small amount of insecurity when Steve’s eyes graze over the too-big arm.

 

Just as Bucky closes his eyes in shame, Steve’s lips graze over his skin. “You’re so pretty.”

 

Bucky laughs softly, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

 

“I’m serious,” Steve murmurs, lips brushing against the sensitive spot behind Bucky’s ear. Bucky doesn’t remember it being sensitive, but maybe Steve does. Maybe that’s why he’s kissing it.

 

The thought sends a jolt of arousal down the brunet’s spine.

 

Steve backs off, making Bucky flush in embarrassment. He shakes his head twice to clear it, wrapping his arms around himself.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky apologizes, “I know you don’t…”

 

Steve’s fingers draw nonsensical patterns up and down Bucky’s back, keeping his distance from the metal arm.

 

“Maybe we should get this arm swapped out for one that fits you better,” Steve whispers. “Is it heavy?”

 

Bucky thinks about lying, but reasons that he has nothing to hide from him anyway. “Yeah,” he admits. “It’s really heavy.”

 

Steve holds his arm then, taking the weight off of Bucky’s shoulder. The younger man exhales in relief, leaning his head back until it rests against the blond’s collar.

 

“I’m always gonna do anything you need me to, y’know that?” Steve asks. “Even back then, I was a goner for you. Even when I was the little one.”

 

Bucky wants to argue, wants to say he’s not small, but he knows he’d be lying to himself.

 

“You took care of me, now I’m gonna take care of you. In whatever ways you need me to.”

 

Bucky swallows. Considers. If he can somehow convince Steve to touch him, to make him feel something good, maybe he’ll be loved again.

 

The moment stretches on and on before Steve mumbles something about the mess from cutting his hair. Bucky closes his eyes, missing the way Steve held his arm as he listens to the blond gather the things he needs, as he cleans up the remnants of Bucky’s past self. Bucky forgets to count his heartbeats, so he’s unsure when Steve comes back and presses soft fingertips against the spot where metal meets flesh.

 

“We need to clean you up,” he murmurs.

 

Bucky abruptly remembers he’s human. “Oh,” he nods. “I’ll go do that.” He stands on wobbly legs, reaching for the backpack so he can return back to his floor.

 

Steve intercepts him, gripping his wrist gently. “I meant here,” he clarifies. “I can help you.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky murmurs. “O-okay.”

 

Steve chews on his lip. “If that’s okay with you?”

 

Bucky nods, passing the blond and stepping into his pristine bathroom. He tries not to linger on the fact that there’s only one towel, willing his brain to settle on the task of getting showered.

 

Steve leans against the door frame, watching with a calculative stare as Bucky carefully takes off his pants, folding them neatly and setting them on the floor. There’s only a half-second of hesitation before Bucky strips himself of his last article of clothing, turning the handle on the shower until he knows the steam will burn his skin.

 

Bucky doesn’t realize Steve has stripped himself until he feels the man behind him, reaching a long arm out to touch the water temperature.

 

“Y’sure you want it that hot?” Steve asks, flicking droplets off of his fingers. “I’ll be in there too, and you know I run hot…”

 

The brunet shrugs with one shoulder. “I’m always cold.”

 

Steve thinks about that while the younger man steps into the shower, watching his skin turn pink as the water burns him upon contact.

 

Steve steps in behind him, keeping a foot or so of space between the two of them. Bucky glances back at the blond before reaching his flesh hand out, prompting Steve to take it and step forward, eliminating any space between them.

 

He kisses between the brunet’s shoulders, causing Bucky to cry into the stream of water. 

 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Steve asks, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s stomach. “What’s the matter, huh?”

 

Bucky sniffles. “M’sorry I disappoint you, Stevie.”

 

Steve shakes his head, rubbing his thumb in a small pattern along Bucky’s hip. “Y’never disappoint me, baby doll. Never ever.”

 

“I’m trying,” Bucky whispers.

 

Steve nods against his warm skin, squeezing his midsection a little tighter. “You’re gonna be okay.”

 

Bucky’s not convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being patient. i love you. (:


End file.
